


A Fine Pair of Poachers

by maaaaa



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-08
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:53:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23538664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maaaaa/pseuds/maaaaa
Summary: Written for the Sentinel Thursday prompt “Poach”. Originally posted on July 12, 2010 at Sentinel Thursday.
Kudos: 6





	A Fine Pair of Poachers

Long ago, in a make-believe place...

~0~

As jails went, this one was better than most. It was outdoors, at least, which cut down on the stench somewhat, for which Jim was grateful. It seemed to be a makeshift affair, a recently abandoned cattle pen by the look and smell of it. And it was disturbingly close to a rickety looking gallows.

There was minimal shade, but Jim had managed to claim a spot of it for himself. It was most likely due to his authoritative demeanor. A sneer and a growl was enough to keep the others at a distance. His past as a soldier of fortune in the King's employ, and a more recent turn as a sheriff's factor had not saved him from the accusations leveled against him, as ludicrous as they were.

Since judgment had been rendered swiftly, if not fairly, he'd forsaken hope and resigned himself to sit in solitude to await his fate.

On the third day of his captivity about a dozen new prisoners were shoved into the pen. The ensuing jostling for space and bullying of the new arrivals tried Jim's patience. He really had no choice but to endure it until it died down, so he burrowed deeper into his cloak and more deeply into his own thoughts.

When the brawling subsided, a young man with long, curly hair and bright blue eyes, ended up being pushed into Jim's corner of the pen. He plunked himself down not far from where Jim sat, brushed himself off, and immediately began talking. To Jim. As if he had not a care in the world. Which Jim found most bothersome.

The man introduced himself as Blair and extended an arm, which Jim ignored by giving him the shoulder, turning aside, and muttering a threat. A blatant hint that apparently had no meaning to Blair, as he just maneuvered himself into Jim's line of sight and kept right on talking. And talking. And talking. Jim gauged the length of the youngster's blathering by the slant of the shadows meandering across the pen, and after what he surmised must have been at least two hours he gave in. Or gave up, was possibly more accurate.

“What offense has landed you here?” Jim asked wearily. He suspected the youngster would most certainly soon have told him whether he wanted to know or not.

“Poaching,” Blair replied promptly, switching from the absurd topic he had been rambling on about without so much as a pause. He looked over at Jim expectantly.

“For which you are no doubt innocent?” Jim asked mockingly.

“No, in truth, I suppose I am guilty.” Blair hunched his shoulders and shrugged. “Though I would be wont to argue, were I to be given the chance to argue, that all I am truly guilty of is a poor sense of direction.”

Jim laughed then; a deep-throated derisive chortle. “Oh? How so?”

“I simply did not realize that where I set my fish traps was in a stretch of the river belonging to the Lord. I followed the bank in what I thought was a southerly direction, which should have taken me out of his protected lands.” Blair sighed. “But as it turns out I had trekked north.”

“How is it anyone of your age would not be able to tell north from south?” Jim countered incredulously. “All one needs to do is orient himself to the rising sun.”

“I know!” Blair exclaimed. “It is a curse! In most things I am quite capable, even knowledgeable if I do say so myself. But north from south, east from west? Directions such as that have vexed me for some time. And I am well traveled---”

“Ha!” Jim sniggered. “Well traveled? As well as learned? Forgive me if I doubt your veracity.”

Blair stood up and stormed off in a huff. Jim watched him, with a detached sense of interest, as he paced the circumference of the enclosure twice, dodging in out of the other prisoners, and then bee-lined straight back to Jim.

“As it happens, I do not care if you believe me or not.” Blair stated with a curt nod.

Jim couldn't help it, he laughed heartily. There was something about this pipsqueak of an upstart that seemed to actually calm him.

“And you?” Blair ventured gamely, seemingly nonplussed by Jim's amusement at his expense. “Why are you incarcerated?”

Jim gave Blair a pointed look, as if to say it was none of his business and he should have known better than to even ask.

Blair just grinned and said, “Suit yourself.” He sunk back down next to Jim and bumped shoulders with him companionably.

Why he immediately relented Jim could not say. But relent he did. “I am accused of sorcery.”

This statement immediately piqued Blair's curiosity. He looked at Jim in awe and sidled closer. “You are a sorcerer?” he asked in a reverent whisper, glancing around.

“I said I was accused of sorcery, you little ninny,” Jim replied irritably. Seeing Blair's crestfallen expression, he once more inexplicably relented, much to his own chagrin, and offered a more palatable response. “I suppose you might say I am also guilty of poaching, and not due to any fault of my own other than a curse as well.”

“Hmmmpf” Blair responded grumpily. “You have no cause to mock me.”

“I am not mocking you,” Jim cajoled, not understanding at all why he should want to appease Blair. “Truly. If I may explain?”

Blair did the most amazingly odd thing with his face, pinching it into a preposterous imitation of someone who'd just bitten into sour fruit. And which seemed to be a signal for Jim to continue, because Blair's mouth remained shut.

“One might say that a more accurate accusation against me would be poaching as well.” He held up his hands to stave off any unkindly retort from Blair. “Poaching words.”

“I would not have taken you for a riddler,” Blair replied dryly. “You hardly have the disposition for one.”

Jim rubbed his brow and heaved a heavy sigh. “I overheard an exchange of words that it was impossible for me to have heard.; an incriminating exchange against a person of some importance. Which could not be substantiated.” He chanced a glance at Blair, whose raised eyebrows he took as encouragement to continue. “I also see things, not made up things; do not give me that look! Things that should be too far away for me to see. I have an uncanny sense of taste and my skin is annoyingly sensitive to the most commonplace fabrics. And if we were not outside I fear I would be reeling from the myriad smells in this small, wretched place.”

Jim's reply was just as cryptic as any of the remarks he'd uttered so far and Blair let him know it by the perturbed expression he bestowed on him.

“As it happens, I do not care if you believe me or not.” Jim threw Blair's own words back at him in a nasally sing-song. He nodded impassively just to complete the parody of Blair's earlier action, but ended up breaking down and grinning unabashedly. “That is not true,” he amended softly. “I do care if you believe. By the gods, I do not know why. But it is important that you believe me.”

The sour fruit look was on Blair's face again, but tempered by something else. Something comforting.

“I do believe you.” Blair answered sincerely. “And I think I can help you.” Blair frowned and gave Jim a thorough once-over. “I do not even know your name.”

Jim cuffed Blair's head gently and answered, “Jim.”

“Well, Jim. I do not know how much time we have together, as both our offenses are punishable by hanging.” He craned his neck to look out toward the gallows and licked his lips nervously. “But I once visited a tribe in a far off land.” Blair suddenly went all dreamy-eyed. “They have the most amazing mating rituals!” Jim cuffed him again. “Oh, yes, indeed, beg pardon,” Blair apologized hastily. “We can save that tale for another time perhaps. Now where was I? Oh yes. The shaman of this tribe told me of beings, not unlike you, who have the most wonderful gifts. And I think you might be one of those beings.”

A warm, comforting feeling came over Jim and he simply responded with, “If you say so, Blair.” And he knew, deep down, that come what may, all would be well now.

Jim looked up at the sky and sniffed the air. He threw his cloak over Blair's shoulders and pulled him in tight to his side. “The weather is going to turn soon. Best stay close.”

They sat quietly for a long while as the day eased into night. It wasn't until the stars began to blink to life overhead that Blair spoke.

“A fine pair of poachers we are,” he whispered hoarsely as he wormed in closer to Jim. He massaged his throat, gulping slowly. “I do not even have a penny for the hangman.” He looked up at Jim from under the cloak. “I do not fear dying so much, but I do wish I could offer him something to make a quick job of it.”

Jim shushed Blair and kissed his forehead. “As long as we are together, it will be all right,” Jim assured Blair. He rubbed Blair's shoulders and anchored him securely to his side.

And they slept.


End file.
